


life 2.0

by goldtreesilvertree, mothwrites



Category: Wolf 359 - Fandom
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Post-Finale, jacobi is the stray cat who wanders into our heroes' house occasionally, not a fix-it in the traditional sense, sad boys healing together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldtreesilvertree/pseuds/goldtreesilvertree, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: "Alright... Daniel. Why are we having a movie night?" Minkowski never seemed the type to be into movie nights, and Hera probably doesn't get the point. He's beginning to get the feeling this will be the first movie night Eiffel 2.0 is going to remember, and he doesn't know if that's a good thing."Because," Daniel says, passing him a DVD so he has to get up again, "I really want to watch this, and my usual movie-buddy is dead. My backup movie-buddy is also dead. Any further questions?"





	life 2.0

It doesn't start immediately after they get back to Earth. Eiffel (or whoever he is now) barely knows his own name, and Jacobi... Jacobi doesn't want any reminders of what he saw in space for a _long_ time. But eventually... 

"A _movie_ night? Are you serious? Were we even friends before?" He doesn't sound annoyed, exactly. More surprised than anything. The effect isn't... unpleasant, but it is unfamiliar. 

"Seriously serious," Jacobi tells him, all nonchalant as he pushes past him and into the living room. "What are you going by these days, anyway?" He calls back, making Eiffel follow him. 

"Doug. Or Eiffel, stil. It's easier for everyone that way." He doesn't sit, watching him as if a wild animal had wandered into the house. 

"I didn't ask what was easier for everyone else," Jacobi says, kicking off his shoes. "I asked what name you're going by." 

"It's still easier to stick to Doug. It's not like I remember enough to have a preference anyway," he shrugs, but glances upwards almost out of habit, as if he expects Hera to be watching over him. 

"You could pick something new," Jacobi suggests. "But hey, Doug is fine. You can call me Daniel, since we're on first-name terms now." He sits down, pulls out a bag of convenience store snacks from his satchel, and pats the sofa cushion expectantly. 

He sits down slowly, still on his guard. "Alright... Daniel. _Why_ are we having a movie night?" Minkowski never seemed the type to be into movie nights, and Hera probably doesn't get the point. He's beginning to get the feeling this will be the first movie night Eiffel 2.0 is going to remember, and he doesn't know if that's a good thing. 

"Because," Daniel says, passing him a DVD so he has to get up again, "I really want to watch this, and my usual movie-buddy is dead. My backup movie-buddy is also dead. Any further questions?" 

" _Nope,_ " he says, quickly, and for a moment sounds like he did before. "Movie buddies it is." 

"Excellent. Popcorn?" 

"Popcorn's good," he says, through a mouthful of it. "I worked that one out pretty fast. I thought..." He tails off, looking intently at the screen. 

Daniel nudges him. "What? Also, gimme." 

He hands the bag back begrudgingly. "I thought I might be remembering liking it, at first. But nope. Popcorn is just. That. Good." 

"Co-signed." They munch in companionable silence for a while, watching the opening credits. "So... How's it going?" He stretches out his vowels, making things painfully awkward. They both keep their eyes fixed firmly on the screen. 

"Great. Great housemates. Great apartment. Great AI living in the roof. It's all... great." 

"Sounds... great." Daniel winces then, at something Doug doesn't understand, and doesn't think he's meant to. "And now, without the bullshit?" 

"I meant it!" He argues, then sighs. "I just... don't know who they're expecting when I walk into a room. But I don't think it's me." 

"That's... rough." He digs in his satchel and presses a can of soda into Doug's hands. "I dunno what flavour you like, sorry." 

"Neither do I," he retorts, and it takes a moment for Jacobi to realise he's joking. "I think you picked okay, though," he adds, as he takes a sip. 

Cans clink. Bubbles pop. Daniel says: "Did they tell you about the time I got cloned?" 

"The _what?_ " He turns to look at him, eyes screwed up and suspicious. "If this is another amnesia prank..." 

"I wish. No, really, I got cloned. Like Isabel, kinda." Daniel takes a sip of soda. His eyes don't move from the screen. "It was you, me, Lovelace, and Alana. And the clone, on the other side of the module. It – he – died. And at the time, we hadn't really figured out which one of us was real. I was so _sure_ it was me, but for the next few days, every time I saw Alana, she looked at me like... Like she was expecting someone else." 

"Shit. _That's_ rough," he sighs, and touches his shoulder without seeming to realise until Jacobi shies away a little. 

"It's not the same as your whole deal," Daniel says matter-of-factly. "But every so often I find myself thinking, what if I'm _not_ the real Daniel Jacobi? And then I kinda stop caring. Because I'm the one that's here. You know?" 

"I get it. Well, no, I don't _get_ it, but... I understand." 

"Yeah. I thought you might." Daniel leans back, takes another drink of soda. "You asked if we were friends before," he says, after a long silence punctuated with action-flick explosions. 

"Mmhmm. Getting the impression that we weren't exactly close back then." He pauses, looking uncertain, then: "Here's to a fresh start, I guess. Benefits of getting a clean slate." 

"Yeah. If you want." They settle there, together, still staring at the screen but not taking in any of the story. When Lovelace and Minkowski come home, Daniel has fallen asleep on Doug's shoulder. For the first time, he realises how _tired_ the man looks. 

Minkowski drops what she's holding: a grocery bag of fruits and vegetables spills to the floor. "Is that – _Jacobi?"_  

He puts a finger to his lips. " _Movie night,_ " he mouths at her, as if this is a regular occurrence. 

Lovelace looks at Jacobi like he's her favourite stray cat come home again: a mix of exasperation and fondness that's usually directed towards Doug himself. "Well, about time," she murmurs. 

He doesn't wake up when Doug edges away to get a blanket, and when he does open his eyes it's with a start, as if he doesn't remember where he is. It's too familiar a feeling for Eiffel not to recognise it. 

"Hey, it's okay," he says, soothingly. "Movie night, remember? You fell asleep." 

"Aww, I missed the – God, what _are_ we watching?" He looks around, and notices Minkowski and Lovelace with what would look like indifferent if they hadn't gotten to know him so well. "Hey," he greets them, as if it hadn't been six months at all. 

"Lovelace picked. You seemed pretty comfortable, so we didn't wake you," he grins. 

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Minkowski adds, and he actually laughs at a reference he understands. Disney movies had been an easy place to start. No spaceships. 

"Yeah, yeah," Jacobi yawns, and shuffles up to make more room for everyone. "Well, look at this reunion. Where's Hera?" 

"Present and accounted for!" The AI pipes up cheerfully from somewhere. "I thought I'd give you some privacy, but now everyone's home..." 

"I'm not staying," Jacobi says quickly. 

"There's food," Minkowski says, casually. "Way too much pizza for the three of us. Dominik is out of town, and we forget Hera doesn't eat." 

"Til the end of the movie, then," he relents. And then the end of the next one. And then Minkowski goes to bed, and Lovelace is yawning and saying something about running, and Daniel's half-asleep again, pleasantly full and warm. 

"There's plenty of space in Eiffel's room," Hera says, and there's an almost tangible pause before Eiffel agrees. 

"The sofa's fine," Jacobi says, after a longer pause. 

"If you're okay there," Lovelace says, at the same time as Eiffel says: "I don't mind." 

"The sofa's fine," he responds, inching away again like he's uncomfortable in company again. "I'll be gone in the morning, I don't want to wake anyone up." 

They disperse to their own rooms after that, but Doug lingers in the doorway a moment longer. "Need anything?" 

Daniel's already shucked his hoodie and jeans to sleep in a t-shirt and boxers. The shirt is a tight fit, V-necked, with the MIT logo emblazoned in white on the front. He pulls the kitschy throw down from the back of the sofa to cover him. "Nah. I'm good." 

"Good," he repeats, and turns away, but then pauses, looks back. "Thanks. Movie night was good." He ducks away and closes the door behind him before Jacobi can come up with a reply. 

Daniel's gone by the time that Eiffel wakes up. Nothing in the living room betrays the fact he was ever there, except the stack of DVDs left on the coffee table, by a neatly folded throw. 

* 

The next time he comes back, he's soaking wet, and looking more tired than ever. 

"How're things?" He says, like rainwater isn't dripping from every part of him. 

"Quiet." _Boring._ He stands aside to let him barge in. "Did you drown on the way here?" 

"Almost." He kicks off his shoes, just like last time. Shucks his hoodie onto the floor. "In space, you really miss weather," he comments, teeth chattering. "And then you remember what a _bitch_ it is." 

"It's pretty awful out there. Need a towel?" He looks like he needs a hot drink, a change of clothes, and _sleep,_ not that he'll accept either if he's offered them. 

"Thanks." He flops onto the sofa. "How're things really?" 

"Like I said, quiet. You wake up to hear you stopped the apocalypse and don't remember, and it turns out everything after that's pretty... quiet." 

Daniel catches a towel thrown from the laundry pile in the kitchen. "Nice for some. Aren't they making you do things? Like... amnesiac rehab?" 

"Yeah, yeah. But it's not like there's anything to remember. Like I said, blank slate," he says, and pushes a steaming mug of something into his hands. "It's not like there's a recycle bin in my brain where I can undelete stuff, right?" 

Daniel shakes his head, after inhaling the fragrant steam for a long moment. "I didn't mean that. Aren't you... discovering things? For yourself? Getting out into the world?" 

"Working on it," he shrugs, head bent over his own mug. "It's just... difficult. And _boring,_ have I mentioned boring?" 

"You might have done. Seriously, do you do anything but sit in here? They should make you do things. Travel. Pick up a hobby." He looked at him, head cocked to one side. "What _do_ you remember? Talking, reading, writing, walking... that's all trace memory, I guess. Is it just narratives that are gone? You don't have to learn to _do_ things again?" 

"Trace memory, muscle memory," he shrugs again, "I guess if I could play an instrument before, I'd remember how. And..." He taps his mug with one finger, thinking, "you know how sometimes you hear a song, and you're _sure_ you've heard it before somewhere? That. All the time. With _everything._ " 

"Mmm." Daniel takes a sip and sighs happily. "What do you _like_ doing?" 

"I _like_ it here. With Hera and Lovelace and Minkowski and her husband. I like..." He taps his fingers again, fidgeting, "I like reading, I guess. Watching movies," he adds, with a sidelong look at him. "It's just... no, it's stupid." 

Daniel throws the towel back at him, in his face. "Don't be boring, tell me. I didn't walk all this way for you to be boring." 

"You _walked_ here?" He laughs, and shakes his head. "No, it _is_ stupid. I _feel_ stupid, watching a movie and going 'Yes! Of course I liked this, I _always_ liked this-" but I don't know that. I _can't_ know that. And it's... stupid, like I said." 

"That's not stupid. It's not what I asked, though. What do you like doing _now?_ When you're not doing Doug Eiffel homework? _"_  

"Idiot," he snorts. "I told you. I _like_ the movies, it's not just... trying to learn who I was. There are so many stories out there I get to hear all over again, it's actually kind of cool." 

"Nerd." 

"Mm, you're in the nerd-house, drinking the nerd-tea, you're _definitely_ one of us," he says, nudging him. 

"One of us," Daniel chants, softly. Whatever's on his mind, he doesn't say it as he sips his tea. "I can't stay long," he adds, after a while. 

"Long enough for a movie?" He asks, "I need someone to watch this with." He gestures to a pile of DVDs that seems to have grown exponentially since he was last there. "Besides, like you said, I'm bored." 

"Me too," Jacobi says, then coughs. "Yeah. Long enough for a movie." 

This time it's Eiffel's head that ends up leaning against his shoulder, and he finds he doesn't mind. He still slinks off before he can end up warm and comfortable enough to fall asleep. 

* 

The third time, it's raining again, and dark. He doesn't expect the knock at the door, though by now he really should. This is becoming a pattern. 

"You're _drenched._ And- wow, how much have you had to drink?" His former self was an alcoholic, he wonders if this poses a risk of relapse into an addiction he can't even remember. 

"Not... quite... enough." Daniel speaks painfully slowly as he looks around the room.  

"Enough to get you here," he says, shooing him into the empty house before he starts thinking of questions like _where have you been?_ and _why do you keep coming back?_ He touches his arm. "You're freezing." 

Jacobi shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Uh, is this gonna bother you? Should I go... brush my teeth, or something?" He attempts a smile, but it just looks queasy. 

"God, no. Just... sit down, try not to puke on the rug. Min- Renée likes it." He wraps a blanket around his shoulders, and grabs a glass of water from the kitchen and wonders how to look after drunk people when you've got a houseful of babysitters making sure you never get near alcohol. "Better?" The blanket is slipping off his shoulders like a cape. His fingers itch to fix it. 

"Sure," Jacobi laughs, a nasty, bitter thing. "Loads. I'm... peachy." 

He flops on the sofa beside him. "No, you're not," he says, simply. "Talk." 

"Isn't that usually my line?" 

"Not this time. Come on, it's _definitely_ your turn to give up deep, soul-searching secrets." 

It earns him a wry smile, but at least it's a real one. "Fine. Here's something you really are learning for the first time: I used to be one too. An _alcoholic._ " He pronounces it like he's presenting a documentary. "I mean, not that you really ever stop. Q.E.D," he adds, gesturing to himself. 

"Mm, we can work on that," he says, giving in to the urge to wrap the blanket around him more securely, which brings them into what might be the closest alignment they've ever been in. "So. You had a drink, then you came here. Anything else before or between the two you wanna talk about?" 

"Nope," Jacobi says immediately, automatically. 

"Mmhmm." They're still leaning towards each other, heads bent close together. "Okay, better question: why are you _here?_ With me, specifically?" 

Jacobi shrugs, and for a moment, Doug doesn't think he's going to get an answer. Then: "In the old days," Jacobi says, "when I wanted to drink, I'd go to Maxwell and she'd take my mind off things. Or I'd go to Kepler, and he'd.... take my mind off things." He looks up at Doug from below his eyelashes. "Thought you might be good at one of those." 

"Then you're here for... oh, for God's sake." It doesn't make sense. Nothing in the short span of time he can remember makes much sense. That doesn't stop him leaning in to kiss him, and it's only when he pauses that he realises it might count as a first kiss. 

"Stop thinking so loud," Daniel murmurs, still only millimeters away from his lips and clearly angling for more. "Some of us are nearly hungover." 

"Stop _talking,_ " he retorts, and kisses him again because he's there and he's pretty and it's _much_ easier than thinking things through. 

"Bedroom?" Daniel says, right in his ear. It's not a suggestion – he's asking for directions. 

And _that's_ when thinking things through returns with a vengeance. "Okay, that's _definitely_ enough till you've sobered up," he murmurs, attempting to edge away from temptation. Which is difficult when Daniel seems determined to drape himself all over him. 

" _Really_ don't need a gentleman right now, Doug," he huffs, and kisses his neck again. "Bedroom? Before I lose _all_ my pride, preferably, but I'm not picky." 

"You can't even remember the way!" He accuses, but it's _very_ difficult to resist this, even as his mind starts to race again. Should this feel familiar? Is there something he's missing, some piece of the past buried under the heady rush? "Has this happened before?" 

"Not with me," Daniel murmurs, when he's not busy kissing every bit of exposed skin he can reach. "I want _you._ Not him." 

_Which him?_ He doesn't remember then, and tomorrow, Jacobi probably won't remember tonight. But now... "We should stop," he murmurs, but it's the last thing he wants, when he's kissing Daniel breathless and there's electricity running under his skin and he's finally not _bored_ any more. 

"If you make me ask where your bedroom is _again..._ " Daniel mock-growls. "You want your first time to be on a sofa? Classy." 

"My _what_ now?" He pulls back a little. "You know I have a kid, right?" 

"The first time you can remember," Daniel amends. 

He pauses, "Well now I have to _think_ about it, it's weird," he complains. "And don't mention losing all your pride again, you've never been rejected in your life, have you?" 

"And I see no reason to start now." Daniel's face says _I can roll with this,_ and when he speaks again his voice is teasing and fond. "I'll be gentle with you." 

He's supposed to be better than this. Doug Eiffel 2.0, a clean slate. A fresh start, for someone who really didn't seem to deserve one. He laughs, softly. "I'm a mess. _We're_ a mess. And if I was smarter, you'd be asleep on the couch already." _If I was_ better, _this wouldn't be happening._  

Jacobi's expression changes, almost comically, from _I can roll with this_ to _oh wow, you're really not going to fuck me, are you?_  

"I should go," he says, stepping back. 

He catches his wrist. "Stay? We can continue this... _this_ later. When you're sober." _And I'm not desperately seeking anything interesting._  

Daniel shakes him off, and in the wake of rejection, he is vicious. He snatches up his jacket from the floor and fixes Eiffel with an icy glare. "Oh, _please._ You think I'd come here if I was _sober?"_  

"Ugh, do you have to be so..." _Dramatic. Attractive. Interesting. You._ And in that moment, something... _snaps._  

He stands, grabs his wrist, and pulls him back in for a last burning, _angry_ kiss. And when he finally draws away, he gets the last word: "Fine. Go. Stay. Do whatever you want. But don't make an insult out of nothing just because you didn't get what you came for." 

Daniel actually _snarls,_ and for a second Doug thinks they're going to have an honest-to-God _fight_ before he wrenches his wrist away and stalks back out into the pouring rain. 

* 

“The thing is,” Daniel says the next time Doug opens the door, like they’d just paused a conversation for a moment instead of a day, “the thing is, you were right, when you said I’ve never been rejected before. I don’t usually hit on men with… scruples. On purpose. And I guess I forgot that you were, you know…” he sighs, and Doug can hear the hangover in his voice. “A good person. And _you_ don’t remember that I’m a total jerk. Which is yay for me, but…” He pauses: hands stuffed in his coat pocket, rocking slightly on his toes in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

It's not great, as apologies go, but he looks so _lost_ standing out there that he lets him in. It's becoming a habit now. "I wouldn't call you a _total_ jerk," he says, with a half-smile. 

"Your predecessor called me a 'vaguely horrific person' once," Daniel says, deadpan, "so I guess that's a step up." 

"Yeah, well, my predecessor didn't get off to a great start with me either, so you definitely get a second shot at a first impression." He'd meant to sound joking, but it comes out bitter. 

"You wouldn't remember your first impression of me anyway," Daniel tells him. "You were a cryo-popsicle." 

"Which isn't a _great_ first impression in itself. Though it seems pretty accurate, given the number of times I ended up space-marooned." He pauses, then: "I spoke to Anne the other day. Well, _saw_ Anne. My sign language isn't great yet, but... it's progress, I guess." It didn't feel like progress, looking at the face he knew and didn't-know and feeling like an imposter. 

"Yeah?" Daniel, apparently forgiven, has kicked off his shoes and regained his usual place on the sofa. "How did that go?" 

"Weird. They don't exactly write guides for 'connecting with the daughter you can't remember'," he says, sitting down beside him. "But... she told me about a few of the things she likes. Films and books and shows from after I... left. Things I wouldn't remember anyway. I've been making a list. Does that count as 'not Doug Eiffel homework'?" 

"Absolutely," Daniel nods. "But she doesn't really remember you either, right? So at least you're on the same footing?" 

"Mm. Kate remembers me, though." Kate didn't look like she believed a word of the amnesia story until Minkowski and Lovelace attested to it. "She's... trying." 

"Still. Good on you." Daniel pauses, twiddling his thumbs. "So.." 

"So." He bites his lip. "I don't suppose we can talk about the weather or something?" Running out of pop culture references still makes small talk hard work, though that could also be their last... encounter. 

Daniel crooks a smile. "You wanna talk about the _weather_?" He laughs at something, then stops smiling. 

"What?" He asks, returning his smile before he realises, then: "Oh. Something I don't remember? Or something I didn't know?" _Or something you don't want to talk about?_ The last hangs in the air, unspoken. 

"Nothing. Something Kepler said once. You weren't there." He's tight lipped again. 

"Right." There's no easy conversation any more, as if they've run out, and it's hard not to think that this would be much easier if they were kissing right now. "What've you been doing, since we got back? Aside from running movie nights for the memory-deprived like the good citizen you are." 

That almost earns him a smile. Daniel stretches out again. "Dealing with the shitstorm that is what's left of Goddard Futuristics," he sighs. "Trying to sort out death certificates and all that in a company that's pretty much burned to the ground." 

" _That_ sounds like the perfect combination of boring and depressing. No wonder here seems like a better place to be." He shifts on the sofa, more comfortable taking up space now they're talking again. "You're doing good, though. Good things, I mean." Maybe not good on an emotional level, but which of them can say that just yet? Definitely not him. 

"I'm just trying to do... _right._ They've got wills, and next of kins, and everything you need to do when someone's died that no-one's done. And I can't fucking do any of that until I've sorted this, let alone start thinking about _headstones_ and stuff." He groans, tipping his head back. "It's just like them to leave me with all the admin." 

"I could help," he says, and then wonders why he offered. Admin's still as boring to Eiffel 2.0 as it was to his former self. Probably boredom. And the need for an excuse to spend more time around Daniel. "I mean, I can't remember anything useful, but I _can_ read. Make phonecalls. Whatever." 

"No, no. It's... okay. But thanks." He looks down at his hands. "I don't even know where I'm supposed to _put_ their damn graves. It's not like they're going to care." 

"So put them somewhere _you_ care about. It's probably what they'd want, anyway."  

"I don't care what they want," Daniel says. "Their fault for leaving me behind." 

"The answer's still the same. Put them somewhere _you_ care about." He doesn't have much experience in losing people any more, but the ghost-memory of grief still flickers at the edges of his mind as he studies Jacobi's profile, his practiced carelessness worn thin. "You still matter." 

"I still – you know what the real kicker is?" Daniel asks, looking up at him. "If it had been me and Kepler, Maxwell would have coped. If it had been me and Maxwell, Kepler probably wouldn't even have noticed. But those two gone, and me on my own? I'm fucking useless. The weakest link. So why am _I_ the one who got to live?" 

He's still looking up at him, and it's not fair that his eyes are so big and his face is so pretty and he looks so _sad_ and Eiffel has to be a good person about this when he's still figuring out how to be a person at all. 

"I miss them so much it kinda hurts to breathe," Daniel continues, sounding so matter-of-fact that it's almost Eiffel who cries. "Like when it's really cold out, and it hurts your lungs. Like that." 

"I remember that feeling." And he does, a dull ache of sympathy forming in his own chest. "They were your... people. Your past." He touches his face lightly with one hand. "Of course it still hurts. Like something's been ripped out of you, and you can never get it back. You just have to... keep going." 

"But I'm so tired," Daniel whispers. 

"So am I," he murmurs, and then he's kissing him again, and this time, there's no reason to stop, so he doesn't. 

"Are you sure?" Daniel says, not really pulling away. 

"The most sure I can remember." 

"Thank God." 

* 

"You're not useless," Eiffel says, offhand, much later. "You're pretty good at being a decent human being, if that's what you're aiming for. Among other unexpected talents." 

"Oh. I thought you were going to say I was good at sex," Daniel says dryly, "and now my _very_ delicate ego is bruised." 

"I think _that's_ pretty obvious, given..." He gestures to himself, his room, the two of them. 

"Yeah," Daniel smirks, "I know I am." 

"And _modest_ about it too." Eiffel rolls his eyes and brushes his lips along the line of his neck, making him shiver. "You know, you'd almost think you had something to prove." 

"It's a lot of responsibility," Daniel says, with mock-affront. "Now instead of whatever vintage-car-on-prom-night memory you had of your first time, you've got _this._ Many, many people would kill for that do-over. _"_  

_"_ Mm." He looks thoughtful. "You know, this might be the first memory I wouldn't trade." 

"I'm flattered." 

"You earned it. _Definitely_ a memory worth keeping, this time." He's smirking, but there's an honesty to his tone. "You're probably the most interesting thing that's happened to me on this planet." 

"Now, _that's_ what a guy likes to hear." 

"Because your ego _really_ needed that boost, I can tell."  

Daniel yawns and stretches and looks as content as a person can be. "It's nice to be appreciated." 

Doug doesn't exactly intend for them to fall asleep like that, but he doesn't even realise until Daniel kicks him awake a couple of hours later, muttering something he can't understand but definitely isn't good. 

"Hey. Come on, wake up," he murmurs, shaking his shoulder gently. "It's just-" 

"I'm sorry," Daniel half-moans, half-sobs. "Come back, come back, _turn around,_ I'm _sorry_ , I love you-" 

A pit forms in his stomach. "Wake up. It's over. I'm sorry. It's over." 

The words aren't enough to wake him, as far down as he is. " _Turn around."_  

" _Wake up,_ " Doug pleads, shaking him again. "Come on, come back to me..." 

Daniel finally wakes, and in a split second he's wide-eyed and digging under the pillow for something that isn't there before he realises where he is. "Eiffel?" 

"The one and only." 

He takes a long, deep breath. "Right. Right. Duh." 

"That sounded like some nightmare." He doesn't remember his nightmares. Like every other memory, they slip out of his grasp as soon as he tries to concentrate on them. For once, he's grateful for that. "Want to... talk about it? What am I saying, of course you don't." 

Daniel shakes his head and shuffles himself, and in the slight light that comes from the window Eiffel can see that his skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat. "Wasn't a nightmare. Just a memory." 

"Offer's still open." 

He looks as if he's considering it, just for a moment, before he shakes his head again. "No. You don't need my bad memories." 

"It's not like I have any of my own," he points out. "Besides, I'm pretty sure this is a thing people do. Talk about bad... memories." 

Daniel picks up a discarded t-shirt from the floor and uses it to mop himself up, grimacing. "Nothing to say. He walked away. I let him." He swings his legs out of the bed, then stops, like he doesn't know where he's going. 

"Bathroom's down the hall on the right, if that's what you're looking for. Otherwise..." He pauses, and is suddenly relieved he _doesn't_ remember Warren Kepler. It's easier that way. "He made his choice. You made yours. You couldn't have done it differently." 

"You don't know that," Daniel says, from over his shoulder. 

"I can add up a story pretty well, thanks." He sits up, trying to get a look at him in the orange half-light of streetlights through the curtains. "Do you know that I'm wrong? You can't. And you can't change what he did, any more than Hera and I can change what we did." 

"He walked away thinking I hated him," Daniel says, standing up. He pauses in the doorway on the way to the bathroom. "I do hate him." 

"I think he knew exactly how you felt about him." He doesn't know if that should be a comfort or not. He lets him disappear into the dark outside. 

* 

The next time, it's Eiffel standing on Jacobi's doorstep, hoping he's got the address right. As soon as he opens the door, he shoves the stack of food he'd been handed into his arms. 

"Minkowski and Lovelace panicked," he offers, as explanation. "You hadn't been by in a while, so... this is the 'is Daniel dead' reconnaissance mission." 

Daniel stares down at the mix of fruit, cheese, and poptarts. "Huh." 

He looks him over with a frown. "Looks like we were just in time, too. When was the last time you ate? Or _slept?_ " 

"I've been busy," Daniel says, stepping back to let him in. "Sorted some things out. I'm... okay." 

"Are you?" He looks around the tiny, bleak apartment, and something tightens painfully in his chest. 

"Yes." He clears papers off the sofa so they can sit. "Sorry, I meant to call. I really was busy. Death certificates came through. I put Kepler up on this hill where we... celebrated an anniversary, of sorts. Maxwell's in Boston." He pauses, clears his throat. "Or the stones with their names are there, anyway." 

"You've been doing all that on your own?" _Of course he has._  

Daniel shrugs. "Maxwell cut her family off years ago. Kepler doesn't have any." 

"I wasn't thinking about them." 

"It wasn't difficult. Just a lot of travel time. Uh-" he looks around his apartment, scratching his neck. "I don't have coffee, but I could probably rustle up... water." 

"Coffee's in the bag. Along with most things human beings need to live for more than 3 weeks without scurvy, according to Hera." The kitchen area is the worst yet. "God, no wonder you don't have food." 

"I got back last night," Daniel says defensively. "So sue me." 

"Who's talking about suing you? I'm here to _feed_ you." There's pasta in the bag, and some kind of sauce for it that may at some point have contained vegetables. Jacobi watches him with a dazed, almost blank expression. 

"I meant to call," he says again, helplessly. 

"Yeah, well, next time, you'll remember. Or you won't, and next time, it'll be Lovelace. And she can't cook, so good luck with that one." 

"Next time," Daniel says, careful and slow, "I could take you out for dinner." 

He looks up from the food, a startled smile frozen on his lips. Equally slowly, he lowers his eyes, still smiling. "I could work with that." 

Daniel's smile is equally as startled. "You sure?" 

"The most sure I can remember." And then he laughs so hard he nearly drops the pan. 

"Come here," Daniel says, rescuing both him and the food. "God, you're ridiculous." 

" _You're_ ridiculous," he retorts, still laughing, but stops for long enough to kiss him. "I'm just stupid." 

"No arguments here." 

"I guess it's too late to take back that dinner now?" But their foreheads are still pressed together, and he hasn't stopped smiling. "You're still ridiculous. And kind of a jerk." 

"Mmm, I know. A total jerk. But I think I'm finally ready, now." 

"For?" 

Daniel kisses him, turns off the stove. "Life," he says. "Two-point-oh." 

_Fin_  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "we are the jacoffel girls and we still have hope" - lottie, 26/12/17


End file.
